


Mornings

by ymeer



Series: All's Fair [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymeer/pseuds/ymeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris gets hurt, Anders' clinic is a mess, they have to share a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Anders was having a particularly dismal night. He had been excluded from whatever trek Hawke was going on, and had decided to spend the night preparing potions and bandages for clinic - something he'd neglected to do for the past few days. Supplies were running low, and he knew that he needed to replenish them before something drastic happened. Another incident at the Bone Pit and he'd be helpless to save any injured. 

The clinic was full of bubbling pots of potion and water. Every flat surface, including the floor, was covered in either bottles, cauldrons, or strips of fabric in varied states of cleanliness. Anders' coat was hanging on a nail on the wall - the ends of it had gotten dunked in potion enough times for him to know that it should be kept out of the work zone. Empty bottles gleamed as the fires under the pots flickered, and had it not been swelteringly hot, Anders might have found some beauty in the sight. As it was, he just found himself hoping that nobody would get grievously injured that night. He was looking forward to getting the few hours of sleep that Justice permitted him, and nothing in Thedas was going to stop him. Or so he hoped. 

Hawke was a man with the worst timing in all of Kirkwall. At least, it seemed so for Anders. A pounding on the door was followed by the clinking of a lock being picked, and the clinic doors swung open to show a blood covered Isabela looking proud at herself for having unlocked a door that had been commissioned by Varric himself to keep intruders out. 

"Had some trouble getting it in, Isabela?" Anders asked, hoping that this was just a cordial call to update him on the nights events. 

The pirate grinned before looking behind her. "Come on Hawke, I have an appointment at the Rose, and he's not going to be happy that your slow arse took so long to get him to a healer that he bled out and died."

"I'd think that if he bled out and died, he'd probably not be feeling anything at all." Hawke called from outside the clinic as Anders rushed (as much as he could with things all over the floor) outside to see who exactly it was that was so injured. 

"This is what happens when you don't bring me along, I hope you know." He called, stopping short once he realized that the party in question was Fenris. 

It wasn't that Fenris was incapable of getting hurt. It was quite the contrary on most occasions. He'd rush into battle and then at the end of it, he'd be covered in gouges and scrapes anywhere that his armor didn't cover. However, the elf typically took care of himself. It was something that Anders had learned to deal with, despite the fact that he knew the injuries could have been healed much faster with a bit of magic. 

"Maker, Hawke. What happened?" The mage said, a little breathless as he stepped back to let Hawke and Isabela into the clinic. Looking outside, he saw Merrill waiting a ways away, talking to a shady looking merchant cheerfully. 

Garrett looked as if he'd carried the elf a long ways, and despite the fact that Fenris was an elf, he wasn't exactly diminutive, and with a second glance, Anders realized that Hawke was carrying not one but two swords, one of the Fenris' two handed monstrosity and the other Hawke's smaller one handed blade. His shield, it seemed, had been left at wherever Fenris had gotten injured. It made sense - Anders imaged that if the elf woke up without his weapon, he might have some sort of a fit. Granted, it would be a grumbling, lurking sort of fit, but a fit nonetheless. 

"Slavers. They recognized him, ganged up on him and well.. you know how he just goes charging in there. The entire blighted room was trapped." Hawke explained as Anders winced, looking frantically around for a surface not currently taken up by what he had planned on being his only occupation for the night. 

Walking further into the clinic, Anders pulled aside the curtain that separated his small living quarters from the rest of the room. There were three pots of potion that had been left to cool, and he looked regretfully at his bed before sighing. "Nothing I can do. Put him there. Don't knock anything over on your way out."

Hawke nodded, setting Fenris down on the bed before looking at Anders, who had already started running a few preliminary streams of magic through the warrior's body, trying to figure out which particular injury would need the greatest amount of his time. "Leave his sword, Hawke." He mumbled, sitting down next to the bed and blowing out all the fires in the room with a wind spell before resting his head in his hands. Looking up, he noticed his friend looking at the elf with a worried expression on his face, so the mage stood up, starting to divest the elf of his gauntlets and taking out a roll of clean bandages. "He'll be okay. I'm not going to kill him in his sleep, don't worry. It isn't as bad as it looks."

With that, Anders ushered the rest of his friends out of the clinic. Merrill, outside, appeared as if she'd bought an armful of trinkets from the merchant, and she waved at Anders as he closed the door and relocked it, walking back over to Fenris to begin the healing process. 

Traps were perhaps the most dangerous thing one could come across. Aside from the obvious fact that they were painful, and typically led to a great deal of injury, they frequently left one open to attacks from outside sources. This was likely what happened to Fenris, Anders surmised, as he peeled up the shredded leggings around the elf's ankles. This was likely where the trap had first struck. It appeared to have been coated in a mild poison that would tense up the muscles around the intrusions - making it so that even if the trap was disabled, movement would be difficult. Thankfully, he recognized the poison, and, assured that Fenris was stable enough, went about the mess of the clinic to find the antidote. 

After cleaning Fenris' ankles and wrapping them in a bandage, Anders moved upwards. He had, earlier, made it so there would be no extra bleeding by sloppily healing over the largest wounds. The worst appeared to be a dagger wound around the elf's elbow, which had torn through ligament and blood vessels, while scraping up against bone. It was a nasty wound. The dagger appeared to have gotten stuck, and had run itself down Fenris' arm a ways before finally freeing itself. The lyrium had been spared the carnage, and Anders wondered briefly what would happen if one of the brands were to be cut. Lyrium in a bloodstream could do awful things, and considering that Fenris wasn't a mage, Anders worried for him. He would have to ask about it when Fenris woke up, although he doubted he'd be given more than a few passing mumbles in return. 

After healing the worst of the wounds, Anders found himself exhausted. There were scrapes, cuts, and bruises all over Fenris' arms, but he knew that the small things would have to wait until he had more energy to heal them. He'd been maintaining the fires to boil the potions for at least an hour before Hawke arrived, and his mana had already been drained quite a bit. Now, he was just glad that the worst was over. Rest was the most important thing for Fenris right now, along with water, which Anders had already given him with a little magic. Normally, he would have woken the elf up, and he also normally would have used more traditional non magical healing methods for Fenris, but due to the severity of the injuries combined with his current lack of prepared supplies, Anders had made a few concessions. 

Standing up from his crouching position beside the bed, he arranged the pieces of armour he'd needed to remove against the wall, preparing for the inevitable moment when Fenris awoke and demanded to be covered in spikes and sharp objects once again. The sword he dragged next to the pile of armour, laying it up against the wall and wondering for a moment whether or not it was heavier than he was before he returned to the main area of the clinic, keeping watch on the elf with a healing aura that would tell him immediately if Fenris' condition changed. Lighting the fires traditionally this time, Anders returned to his work. 

It was the time where it was both late at night and early in the morning. Deals were beginning outside the clinic in Darktown, and uptown Anders imagined that the Rose was just starting to throw out its later-staying guests. Wiping his eyes, he leaned against the wall and surveyed the room. There were bottled potions and wrapped bandages waiting to return to their shelves. Pots were strewn across the floor in varying levels of cleanliness. Most of them were covered in a sticky residue, as was the floor. By this point, Anders couldn't even tell what was potion and what was the typical grime and muck found on the floor of Darktown. It didn't particularly matter, he decided, as he stumbled back into his sleeping quarters. 

Fenris had woken up an hour or so ago. Anders had checked in on him, ensuring that he was doing alright before returning to work. He couldn't be bothered with arguments at the moment. It wasn't as if he was looking to argue with the elf anyways, it was just that their opinions were so opposed that they found it impossible not to argue, most of the time. Tonight, however, both of them were exhausted enough that they could ignore each others opinions in exchange for some silence to focus on whatever it was they were focusing on. And focusing they were. Anders on his potions, and Fenris on some unknown thing in the distance. Anders had decided, after a while of filling up the potions that had since cooled in his room, that it was not the ambiguous splotch on the wall that the elf was gazing at so fervently. It was likely something to do with the slavers he'd encountered, or perhaps it had to do with the fact he'd gotten so injured that he could not support himself on the trek back to Kirkwall. Whatever the problem, Anders found himself fretting over what was bothering Fenris, despite the fact that if he was truly informed, he probably wouldn't understand. Or at least, the elf would claim fervently that the mage wouldn't understand, despite whether or not he actually did. 

The elf was still awake, and he'd drank at least two pitchers of water. He had wanted to return to his mansion in Hightown immediately, but upon an attempt to stand, he had nearly crashed into the array of bottles on the floor and further injured himself. Anders had patiently escorted the elf back to the bed, where he apologetically explained that blood loss was not something that could be countered by sheer determination. Fenris, it seemed, was somewhat doubtful of that statement. However, he returned to the bed, begrudgingly, and glared at Anders as the healer checked to see if any of his potion bottles had been broken. 

"Feeling better?" Anders asked, hoping that his voice was not entirely unintelligible, as he'd been told it could get during the late hours of the night. 

Fenris nodded, which Anders took to be assent. 

"Now, before you decide you need to impale me upon your arm, I'm going to show you something, which is the incentive for what I'm going to be asking you next. Because I really would not be asking this if I didn't absolutely require it." Anders said, pulling back the curtain to reveal the clinic in its current state. 

Fenris appeared somewhat disgusted at both the smell and the appearance of the room, and he clenched his jaw a bit in repulsion as he looked back at Anders. "Are you going to explain to me that you have come to the conclusion that you have no right to pester me about the state of my living conditions, given your own?" He asked, unamused. 

"What? No, it's not usually like this. You know that. Listen." Anders pulled the curtain back. "You need to move over."

Fenris looked scandalized for a moment, his eyes widening before he regained his composure. "Definitely not."

"This is my clinic! You have to move over. I need to sleep, Fenris. I just knitted your flesh back together, and brewed enough potions to supply half of Kirkwall for at least thirty days. Come on." Anders couldn't be bothered to not whine. "There's enough space, you stubborn, blighted elf."

"Blighted? Remind me again who the Grey Warden here is?" Fenris said, glaring at Anders. 

"I don't have the ability to deal with this right now. Fenris, I'm wearing clothes. I'll put my coat on if it makes you more comfortable, although I've heard that the feathers can cause one to sneeze. I need to sleep, unless you want those unattended wounds to get infected."

"I will pour some of the less desirable wines I have over them. Alcohol helps with infections."

Anders scowled, crossing his arms. "Fenris. I need to sleep. Otherwise....otherwise the next time Hawke stubs his toe, I will refuse to heal it for a whole five minutes."

"You wouldn't." Fenris looked up at the mage, remembering the last time their mutual friend had jammed his toe against one of the chests in his mansion. None of them had heard the end of it until Anders finally conceded. 

"I deal with whining children on a daily basis here at the clinic. I can handle one more." Anders said stubbornly. "Move. Over."

"The bed is too small." 

"I've fit three people on that bed."

Fenris gave Anders a look. 

"Maker, not that way. Not anymore, at least. Patients. The clinic was overcrowded. Bone Pit." He explained, exasperated. "Will you move if I say please?" The mage asked, completely defeated. 

"No."

Huffing, Anders strode into the clinic, returning with his coat, which he slung around his shoulders before sitting down in the one free chair that he'd used to sit in while tending to Fenris. Curling up as best he could, he rested his head precariously on the wooden supports and closed his eyes, trying to rest despite the fact that he knew he would never be able to get to sleep like that. 

Over the years, Anders had plenty of late nights. Some of them were with friends, drinking and having fun until the sun rose. Others were later, with Justice, the spirit willing him to get words of his manifesto down on his paper before his body finally fell prey to sleep. Sometimes there were too many patients, and sometimes he just could not get to sleep. With all this, Anders knew that when he had a chance to sleep, he would try his damn hardest to get it. Which was why he remained silent on the chair for twenty minutes until the elf finally spoke again. 

"Mage."

Anders grumbled. "Get you own water, bastard."

"I do not need water."

"Piss in the chamber pot by the bed, you should be able to reach it and lean over to--"

"Mage."

"Oh, what is it, Fenris? Must I leave the room now? Would you like me to relinquish the chair to you as well?"

"Stop your incessant whining. You may share the bed. I can no longer sit here while you lay on that chair like a petulant child."

"Me? A petulant child? Well, isn't that something, coming from the elf who doesn't know how to share some blankets." Still, Anders looked up from his spot on the chair, to see that Fenris had, indeed, moved over to half of the bed, giving both of them just enough room to lay down. 

"You will not touch me."

"I'm going to sleep, and unless sleep involves me running my hands over your body, which I'm pretty sure it doesn't, I don't plan on touching you." Anders grumbled, letting his coat drape itself over the chair as he unlaced his boots and climbed into his bed. "Not that I would want to touch you anyway. I quite enjoy having my internal organs inside my body, thanks."

Fenris scowled, sinking under the covers as he pressed his body up against the wall, as far away from the mage as possible. Minutes later, Anders was asleep, and Fenris, although he did not want to, followed soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is sort of confused, vulnerable, and Fenris forgets something.

Anders' lover was warm. He surmised that he had a lover because there was someone in bed with him, and that only happened when he had a lover. Justice had ensured that he could only be with someone if he truly cared for him. Petty deviations of the flesh were not as convincing to the spirit, apparently. Anders hadn't had casual sex in what felt like decades, although he knew it must have been sooner than that. Or, at least, he hoped it had been sooner than that. 

He couldn't remember having a lover, but he knew it was his own bed, not some camp roll halfway up Sundermount, and this was the only explanation. So, somehow, over the course of his hectic potion making night, he had found a lover. 

Smiling to himself and keeping his eyes closed, he moved closer to the warmth, letting out a contented sigh. He missed cuddling an awful lot, and this was a morning during which he was tired, and there was someone else sharing his bed. He was too tired to think of anything else at the moment. Most of his body ached dully, and his mana was still not completely replenished, although he knew that if there was an emergency, he'd be able to react to it in good enough time. 

The warmth moved away. Frowning, Anders grumbled and scooted towards it again, taking the covers that he'd wrapped around himself the previous night and letting go of them as a sort of peace offering. Perhaps the other person was angry at him for taking all the covers - he knew he wasn't good at sharing them, and he never had been. 

"Mage."

Anders nodded reluctantly. "Congratulations, you figured it out. Now come here and hold me close, I'm awfully lonel--" 

"Mage."

Oh. _Oh._

Anders opened his eyes. 

Fenris was pressed up against the wall so closely that it was almost as if he'd used his lyrium markings to fuse half of his body with it. He looked disgruntled and slightly pained, and was glaring at the healer with a gaze that could rival Aveline's. 

"Explain yourself." He demanded, setting down back onto his side of the bed as Anders recoiled, slumping back down onto his pillow in humiliation. 

"I was having a dream. You know that time right when you wake up where you're not sure if you're dreaming or awake? That's it." The mage rushed to explain himself, glancing up from the pillow from beneath his hair, which had come undone in the night. He'd been too exhausted to take the tie out before falling asleep, and it was likely hiding somewhere between the sheets. "It's got nothing to do with you. It's just been years since..." Anders trailed off, his gaze returning to the pillow as he wilted a little bit against the fabric. "Give me a few more minutes before I have to get up and face my shame? I can't believe I asked you to cuddle me, I'm as.." He looked for a word for a moment. Anders wasn't repulsed by Fenris, nor was he disgusted or frightened. It was just odd, something he'd never even thought to picture before. "surprised as you are that I even attempted whatever it was that I attempted."

Fenris _hmph_ ed, shifting around in the bed for a moment. He had been relatively relaxed upon waking, despite the fact that he was sleeping next to the abomination. Abominations, it seemed, were still capable of looking vulnerable and relaxed upon sleeping. He cursed himself for noticing it, but he had noticed it all the same. The calmness of Anders' face as he slept had relieved him from the constant stressful appearance that he usually donned. The elf had wondered briefly what Anders would look like waking up in a proper bed, in a proper room. One not strewn about with burnt out candles and drafts of a hopeless manifesto and freshly bottled potions. The sun would shine off his hair, and the shadows on the fabric covering him would accentuate the length of his legs and the slimness of his frame. Under all those feathers, Anders was an attractive man. The moments before the mage had awoken, when he'd been contemplating the existence of a lover, Fenris had seen a small smile grace Anders' face, and the soft noises he'd made while reaching towards the elf had been nothing short of endearing. Not that Fenris would ever admit that. He wasn't sure he had even admitted it to himself. However, cuddling and touching was out of the question. Not only for the fact that it would be utterly humiliating, and the fact that Fenris did not abide touching, but also because every muscle in the elf's body seemed to ache. It was part of the reason why he hadn't just woken the mage up earlier, along with the fact that he'd been too busy admiring Anders to even consider waking him from his rest. 

"I ache."

"You had poison in your veins, and you're still covered in small cuts everywhere. I can fix those now." Anders had found rhythm in the business of healing where before he'd had nothing but embarrassment and residual loneliness that had arrived upon realization that he didn't really have anyone sharing his bed after all. Not in the sense of the word, at least. 

"You will not." Fenris growled, looking around the room to find his armour and sword and feeling rather comforted when he found them intact and close by. 

Anders rolled his eyes, getting out of the bed and slipping his coat on. He didn't bother to buckle it as he swung the curtain open to reveal the dreadfully messy clinic. "Damn." He muttered to himself, puttering around and finding some balm. Upon locating it, he brought it back to Fenris, holding it out along with a roll of freshly cleaned bandages. "Bring the bandages back to me when you're done. I'll close the curtain, you can have your privacy."

The elf was wearing a shirt and his partially shredded leggings. The rest of his clothing sat over by his sword, and he nodded, taking the supplies from Anders before painstakingly getting out of bed. "We will not speak of this."

"You know, I was just about to go and tell the entire population of Kirkwall that I made a fool out of myself in front of a man who wants me dead. But you've convinced me not to do that, thanks Fenris." The mage snarked, walking out of his living quarters and drawing the curtain closed behind him with a flourish. "Tell me when you're finished, I have a supply of healing potions for you." He called, beginning to clean up the mess that he'd made the previous night.

"You think I want you dead?" Fenris asked after a long pause. 

"I think you want me tranquil, which is worse. So, honestly, I was being a little generous." Anders said regretfully from inside the clinic, his voice sounding muted amongst the clinking of bottles and banging of pans. 

"I do not want you dead or tranquil."

"In your eyes, that's the only way I'm not dangerous."

"You are not dangerous when you are asleep."

"The fact that I had you bonding with my wall this morning in an effort to get away from my dreaming hands tells a different story."

Fenris coughed, or laughed, Anders couldn't tell which. "Then I shall just have to think of another solution."

"Solution for what? Not making me dangerous?"

"Yes."

"You should buy me a cat."

"I am not buying you a cat, mage."

"It would give me something to care about, you know? Something to live for aside from the Cause."

Fenris paused, Anders heard clanking of metal, as if something had just been dropped. "You have other things to live for. You have friends, allies."

Anders sighed, the sounds of bottles clinking halted. "How would you know? It's not as if you count yourself among them."

Behind the curtain, Fenris was dressed. He had bandaged and salved the worst of the small cuts, and was by all definitions, ready to go. He didn't want to leave the safety of the curtain, however. This was the first time that he'd ever spoken with the mage, and perhaps part of the reason why was that he could not see Anders. The separation might have helped draw some of the intimacy away from the nature of the conversation. "I fight alongside you, do I not?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to seem too outright in a declaration of friendship. 

"You fight alongside Hawke, who I happen to fight beside as well. You don't have to pretend as if you sympathize with me, Fenris." Anders sounded mournful, as if he wished that he didn't believe what he was saying.

Picking up his sword, Fenris steeled his expression. This conversation had gone far enough. Any more negotiation and he might end up having to declare outright that he considered himself Anders' friend. Sweeping aside the curtains, he found himself looking at the mage. Anders was standing in the middle of the mess, a few potion bottles in each hand. He looked weighted down - different from the man Fenris had seen just minutes ago while he'd been sleeping. 

With a few graceful steps, Fenris found himself standing in front of the mage, unsure of why he was so close, or what exactly it was he had planned on doing. Reaching over, he rested his hand on the mage's cheek. His gauntlets were likely cold and uncomfortable. There was probably some blood still stuck between the crevices where time would not wash it away, but he knew how to make the touch gentle without scratching skin or ripping cloth. Anders looked shocked and terrified at the same time. His eyes were wide, and his knuckles were white on the bottles he was holding. 

"Fenris?"

"Take care of yourself, mage." Stepping away from Anders, Fenris took his hand away, confused with his own actions just as much as he had been confused with the nature of the conversation just a few moments beforehand. 

"I..." Anders couldn't finish his sentence, not only because he couldn't exactly think of the words to say - the shock of having Fenris touch his face had been enough to render him somewhat speechless, but also because Fenris had left through the door, still walking carefully as if he was aware that his balance would not be completely returned to him over the course of one night. 

The moment was over, and Anders committed himself to cleaning the clinic, preparing for the next day of menial tasks helping the people of Kirkwall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well here's the next chapter. hmu in the comments if you're looking for any specific additions, I'm happy to oblige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was actually thinkin about adding a bit of smut to this? i might make a one-shot that stands alone but fits in with the nature and setting of the fic. 
> 
> also warnings for street harassment and vomiting mentions

Anders was ready, finally, to open the clinic for the day. He'd seen people waiting outside for at least an hour, but he hadn't been ready to light the lanterns just yet. After all, he had stood in the middle of the messy room for a few minutes, awestruck, after Fenris had left. It wasn't just the fact that he hadn't been touched in such a gentle manner in so many, long, painful years, but it was also that _Fenris_ , the elf who Anders had assumed loathed him, had told him to take care of himself. The worst part of it, however, was that with nothing more than a few words and a surprisingly gentle touch of the face, Fenris had successfully made Anders feel lonely again. It wasn't the kind of lonely that came from truly being alone - Justice ensured that would never be the case - instead it was the kind of lonely that made one long for a warm body at night, and someone to hold close when things felt hopeless. 

Not that he had imagined the elf in that position. Certainly not, that would be foolish. 

He had cleaned up the rest of the clinic with varying levels of success. There would be a few more stains left on the floor than had been there before, and although his bed was surprisingly bloodstain-less, Anders knew that the linens would need to be washed. The task of removing the more pointy and dangerous pieces of Fenris' armour had ripped the sheets in a few places, although he would never ask for reimbursement. He had slept on things that were far worse than some partially torn sheets. 

Patients began to filter through the doors. One with a burn, another with a rash, Isabela arrived for her weekly dosage of herbs and was only convinced to leave by the entrance of a rather sickly looking elf who nearly vomited on the pirate's exceptionally tall boots. She had departed with a wink and a waggle of eyebrows that were encouragement for Anders to tell her all about how Fenris had recovered. Anders just managed to sigh - it was clear that she was not aware of the difference between arguing and being attracted to one another. She ought to take her fantasies somewhere else - Orsino and Meridith might be a fun outlet for her ridiculous thoughts. 

After that particular mental image, Anders found himself nearly inclined to join in with the vomiting his patient had just indulged in a few moments ago. 

It was only after the regular traffic had died down that Anders found the small crate of healing potions by the door untouched. Fenris had left in such a hurry after the incident that it seemed he had not taken them with him. Sighing, Anders stood up, his feet aching, as he stuffed the bottles in a bag and slung it over his shoulder - preparing the make the trip to hightown. 

=====

Fenris' day had been one with a great deal of introspective thought. Hawke had come by to see how he was doing, and to apologize again for carrying him. The Ferelden appeared to understand that Fenris liked to be able to do things on his own, but Fenris attempted to assure his friend (however unsuccessfully) that he could not have walked all the way to Darktown on his own, incapacitated as he was. The elf did, however, slip in a few comments about how Hawke should refrain from bringing 'that blood mage' (to which his friend replied "she has a name, you know."), and instead simply bring another rogue to go ahead and clear the way for him.

Hawke had left, but not before making sure to drop a few sovereigns on a table as payment for the last night. Fenris had no idea what to do with all the money he had accumulated over the years with Hawke. He supposed he could fix up the mansion, but he felt as if it was not truly his. It served him well enough. Some of the money went to keeping the wine cellar restocked, but he knew that he could likely pay for that just with his winnings from Wicked Grace.

Most of the money he kept in a box under a stone in his bedroom. He carried around a small bit, but only used it if needed. So far, he hadn't found a need for it. 

This particular batch of coins he used in a somewhat novel way. Making use of the non-shattered wine bottles around the room, Fenris found himself tossing the coins into the empty bottles, taking a few drinks from his current bottle whenever he missed. 

It was not a very entertaining game, but it was better than thinking about what had happened that morning. Better than contemplating Anders' face, or thinking about how tragic it was that he did not always look so calm and relaxed as he had when he was asleep. No, it was better to go without those thoughts, better to go without thinking how Anders had looked when Fenris had held his face with one hand and said the first thing that had come to mind. 

=====

"Hey, beautiful. What've you got in that bag? Anything worth sharing?" A slurred voice called out from the side of the street. Seeing how there was nobody else on the street, Anders assumed it was directed at him. 

Anders hated Hightown. If the Gallows hadn't existed, it might have been his least favorite part of Kirkwall. 

Sighing, he turned around to face the man. Swinging the bag in front of him, he pointed to it with his free hand. "I've a mess of body parts from the last man who tried to proposition me, care to make a donation to my collection?" He asked cheerfully, taking a bit of inspiration from Merrill with the way he spoke of gruesome things with such cheer. 

The man stepped back, turning around a few times until he found his way back on the path to the Rose. 

If there was one other thing that could be said about Hightown, it was that it likely hated Anders too. 

Thankfully, Fenris' mansion was close enough that Anders got there before anyone realized that body parts did not make the sound of clinking glass. 

"Fenris, open up. You forgot your stuff, I'm cold, and I'd rather not look like the man who chose to bang on the door to the haunted house for too long." The mage could not help but whine a bit. He felt as if he might be entitled to the whining, however. After all, Fenris had forgotten his things, which Anders had made for him, and then he had left the mage confused for an entire day. It wasn't completely unprecedented whining, as some of his whining might have been. 

The sound of footsteps was not something that could be expected when around Fenris, as it was around Hawke or Aveline. Fenris was silent, and Anders found himself remembering how the elf hadn't even bumped a foot against the clutter that had littered his floor that morning. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long, footsteps or not, until he saw the door swing open. 

"Do they really say this house is haunted?"

Anders rolled his eyes. "What, concerned for your reputation? I've had three patients who believe they've been cursed by walking in front of your doorstep too many times. In all honesty, the constant sounds of breaking glass that I've heard come from this place doesn't do much to turn them away from that particular rumor." He hoisted the bag back to his front. "Although I'd prefer if you didn't break these glasses. Just give them back to me once you're finished, okay? Potions, you forgot them when you..."The mage trailed off, unsure of what to say next. 

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I forgot them."

"That's why I'm here. Let me in."

"Do you need to be inside in order to give them to me?"

Anders tilted his head a bit, held out the bag of potions, and leant against the doorframe. Once he'd ensured the door could not be closed in his face, he shook his head. "I walked from Darktown, got hassled, and stood on my feet for about an hour longer than I really should have to. It isn't even my fault you forgot these!"

"You could have simply brought them to our next meeting at the Hanged Man. There was no reason to.."

"Oh, now you're telling me _I'm_ the unprecedented one? I didn't want your things cluttering up my clinic, and...and you get in enough trouble that you should have some spare potions anyways just in case anything happens, and you were just hurt so you need healing, and honestly Fenris why can't you just say 'thank you, Anders, would you like a cup of water before your trip home?'!" Anders was sputtering as he said the words, his spare hand waving erratically in the air as if to emphasize his words. 

Fenris looked at the ground before taking the bag from Anders. "Very well. There is water in the second room to the left."

Surprised, Anders glanced back over at him, looking into the foyer as if to check and see whether or not he'd be permitted to take a step inside. "Thank you."

Fenris shifted around a bit, clearing his throat in a small cough as he stepped back. 

"You should really get that cough checked out, you know." Anders reminded the elf, walking into the mansion cautiously. 

"It is nothing to worry about."

"You do it all the time, you should worry about it."

"I know the cause."

"If you know the cause, let me help fix it."

"No."

By this time, Anders was in what Fenris believed had once been a kitchen. He could hear from the squeaking of a barely oiled metal pump and crunching of shattered glass under the mage's boots that Anders was getting himself water. "Why?"

"It is...what I do when I am amused." Fenris was not sure why he kept telling the mage things like this. It was the second time they had engaged in a conversation, and the second time they'd done it while in separate rooms. 

The squeaking stopped. "That's your laugh?" Anders' voice sounded positively giddy. "Wait, why were you laughing at me saying thank you?"

"It is not my laugh. It is what I do..instead of laughing." Fenris corrected him, before continuing. "You carry these things all the way up here, deal with the nighttime Hightown population, and yet you thank me. It was amusing."

The crunching of glass told Fenris that Anders was returning to the room. Fidgeting a bit, he shut the door, looking at the hallway where he knew the mage was to emerge. He was not sure he wanted to continue this conversation face to face. What if Anders brought up what had happened that morning at the clinic?

Anders walked through the doorway and back into the foyer with the same caution that he'd entered the house with. "This is your place. I have never been invited. It's yours, I...you are a very private man, Fenris. To let me in here shows that you have some trust in me."

"Are you sure that it was water and not some potent alcohol you just consumed, mage?" Fenris fidgeted again. He did not want to be still. 

Anders smiled, shaking his head. "I'll be off, now. Thank you for the water." He paused, opening the door. "Take care of yourself, Fenris." With that, he left, closing the door behind him. If not for the bag of potions beside Fenris, the elf might never have known Anders was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor anders is the kind of lonely where you fall asleep holding on to a pillow and wake up expecting to see someone who loves you next to you

_"You are not alone, Anders."_

It was the first time in a while that Anders had been able to hold a conversation with the spirit. But it was one of the strangest since they had joined. Justice understood, to an extent, most of human behavior, either from his time before the merging or from Anders' own experiences. However, he did not seem to understand completely the difference between social interaction and affection, or why Anders so longed for the latter as he lay alone in his bed. The sheets had been washed, and they had dried only with the help of a bit of magic. Now, they were pleasantly warm, and Anders was unpleasantly cold. 

"I know I'm not alone. It's different, you can't hold me. Not that you would, anyways, if you were out of my head and standing in this room with me." He protested, muttering a bit so that nobody waiting outside his clinic (despite the fact that it was closed) could hear.

" _What good would that do?"_

Anders rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, as if that would help him escape the embarrassment of having to explain physical intimacy to the spirit yet again. "Forget it."

Hearing the lingering question of _'but why would I forget it?'_ , Anders dragged himself out of bed to get his coat. He normally didn't wear it to sleep, but after having a comforting warmth next to him during the short hours of sleep he'd gotten the previous night, he wanted _something_ to keep him warm. 

Besides, he liked the weight that the feathers put on his shoulders. Along with the solid fabric of his coat, it almost felt as if someone was wrapping their arms around his shoulders. He could mistake the brushing of flyaway feathers on his neck as fleeting kisses in an instant, if he tried. Which he was doing now, standing in the middle of his clinic with one arm wrapped around his waist, his eyes closed as he swayed discreetly back and forth. It was good that today hadn't been overly eventful. Aside from Fenris, that was, but the fact that he could relax made things pleasant, despite his lovesickness. 

Thankfully, Justice had other things in mind for him to be doing that night, aside from being melancholy over nothing of meaning. The moment only lasted a few seconds, before Anders found himself being willed to begin editing and transcribing another passage from his manifesto. 

=====

Everything was frustrating. 

It was not enough that Fenris had previously been around those who had treated him with disrespect, but he had also grown up in a completely different society. Hawke was lucky - least Ferelden was not too different from Kirkwall. There was a typical Andrastrian chantry and a small amount of what humans liked to call "political intrigue" (Fenris did not find it "intriguing" at all) in both places. Perhaps there were less warhounds and more slavers in Kirkwall, more Qunari, too, although their numbers had diminished greatly since Hawke had become "Champion of Kirkwall", whatever that meant. 

Kirkwall was backwards, or it was Fenris that was backwards. He decided, drunkenly, that it was Kirkwall. He also decided that he felt like an imbecile nonetheless.

Everyone was constantly giving away things and asking nothing in return. It was as if they were simply waiting to collect on their dues. When asked, Hawke had just said it was what "friends" did, and shrugged nonchalantly. 

Friends also should be welcomed into one's home, offered something to eat or drink, and then be subjected to a dull discussion about the weather before leaving. This was what Donnic had said, at least, when Fenris had been invited over to Aveline's for some dull, obscure reason. Now, Fenris scolded himself for forgetting this fact. 

In Tevinter, inviting someone over had been a display of power. Danarius had displayed Fenris and a few others, as well as some of his rarer and more dangerous artifacts to those visiting. After the intimidation was finished, the guest would either be escorted into a private room, or they would leave in a hurry, glancing behind their back a few times as they left. Fenris did not have anything to show off, and even if he did, he did not think he would want to try and intimidate his visitors. He got few enough of them as it was. 

With a brief yell, he picked up one of the bottles on the foor and chucked it at a blank space on the wall, frustrated both with himself and the situations around him. He was blessed with aim enough to hit his target, despite how intoxicated he was. 

It was moments after when he realized that it was not the red of wine running down the stone wall, but that of a potion, which he'd set out on the floor earlier for easy access. 

_Damn it._

Acts of defiance against the mage were normally welcome to Fenris. The elf was not fond of him, but he had seen last night how hard Anders had worked to make these potions, and many more for others who were not him. However he understood that these were on loan, they were not his to keep, and Anders provided him with the healing potions in exchange for the return of bottles, so that he did not constantly have to go out and buy more. 

Fenris had once asked why Anders provided him with the potions, to which Anders had looked around the table at the Hanged Man in mock surprise. 

\----A few weeks ago----

"It's my _job_ , Fenris. Remember? Healer?" The mage had pointed at himself, rolling his eyes. 

"I do not see you supplying healing potions to anyone else."

"Nobody else gets hurt as much as you do." Anders paused, looking around the table. "Isabela gets her herbs" He pointed at Isabela, who smiled knowingly. "Merrill gets lyrium potions." The Dalish smiled cheerfully, unaware that she was showing the entire table her cards. "Varric gets ingredients for those flasks, what are they again? They go boom." Anders continued, unfazed by the fact that he had bomb ingredients in his clinic. "My dear Aveline gets potions for all the aches and pains that come with being guard captain. Sebastian gets... well he doesn't get anything." The archer scowled a bit from across the table. "I did offer to give you some ingredients for that incense, you turned me down, remember?" The apostate continued, "Hawke forces me to make medication for his family members. Even that wretched Gamlen, who I'm pretty sure hit on me once."

"Did not." Hawke protested.

"Did too!" Anders crossed his arms. "Admit it, he's a disgusting old man."

"He's a disgusting old man, I refuse to admit that he flirted with you."

"Garrett." Anders had his bargaining voice. It was the sort of voice that reminded everyone at the table that as a healer, he knew pretty much everything about all of them. 

"Fine, fine. I'll buy you a drink to apologize, alright?" Hawke offered apologetically, waving a hand at the bar despite the fact that there wasn't anyone standing attentive at the moment. 

"I don't drink." The mage pouted a bit, looking longingly at the mug in his friend's hand. 

"You drank a few days ago, I saw you." Varric had entered the conversation, and had immediately begun negotiating. 

Anders sighed, looking at the table. "It was different."

"Enlighten us." The dwarf entreated, smirking a bit as if he had thought he already won. 

"Donnic was here, the seating was all messed up."

"Are you suggesting that you only drink when my husband is around?" Aveline looked furious and shocked, while still managing to be a bit terrifying. 

"What? No! Maker, no. I mean, yes, not because of Donnic. He isn't my type, and I'm not the type to attempt to woo anyone's husband. It was the seating.." Anders waved his hand around before putting his face in his hands. "I'm not going to explain it. Begone, all of you."

"This is my room." Varric reminded the mage. 

With a groan, Anders pushed back his chair, walking out of the room. Hawke gestured for Fenris to follow the mage. It had become something of a task - taking the mage home after nights. Hawke paid him to do so, and they always remained silent on the trek back to Darktown. Anders had once asked why he was always forced to have someone accompany him home, and Fenris had shrugged, responding that he could not care less what happened to the abomination. If he was to die in the sewer he called a home, so be it. 

That particular night, they had bickered all the way back to the clinic. 

\----Current Time----

To remove himself from the reminder of his misdeed, Fenris went up to his room, removed his armour, and attempted to sleep. He would deal with the issue in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris goes shopping  
> [ aka let's go to the mall (sry) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY_bhVSGKEg)

As far as Fenris was concerned, merchants were assholes. 

He dared not go up to the potion maker, for fear that the man would proposition him to go fetch some obscure plant that could only be found in an even more obscure place. Therefore, he looked around for what looked to be a similar stall, and found one adorned in various herbs, or were they flowers? With his headache, the elf couldn't tell, but Anders used flowers and herbs interchangeably, or so he hoped. After all, they were all plants, and both of them fit in bottles. 

The woman running the stand had a ridiculously large red flower pinned behind her ear, and she was giving Fenris an incredibly odd look as he perused the incredibly slim selection of glassware that she had available. This was truly a bizarre shop. 

"Would you like to see anything else, ser?" She asked tentatively, walking up beside him and glancing at the bottles as if Fenris might have stolen one of them. 

"No."

"This one here holds quite a lot, see the wide mouth? But this one prevents evaporation, so everything lasts a bit longer. It's a bit more standard." She held up a glass bottle that looked similar to the one Fenris had shattered the night before. 

"Yes, that one." He agreed, reaching into his pocket for the money he owed. 

"Alright, what will that be? The regular?"

"Yes." Why was a glass bottle regular? There was nothing exceptional about the others. 

"Hm, it must be getting to be that time of year again." The merchant mused, turning around so that Fenris could not see what she was doing as she wrapped the package. 

_The time of year where everyone breaks bottles owed to someone else?_ What was this woman thinking?! Fenris wanted to leave. 

"Well, here you go, be careful you don't tip it upside down." She handed Fenris a box wrapped in paper with a handle poking out of the top. It was quite tall, for its contents. Fenris shrugged, supposing that perhaps she had run out of smaller boxes, or perhaps she simply was doing another of those infuriating things that he did not quite understand about Kirkwall. Was it natural to leave extra space in boxes? He would have to bring it up with Varric discreetly later. 

Handing the woman the money, he nodded, bumping into a disgustingly affectionate Hightown couple. Anders would have probably been furious - fuming about how a trip t to the Gallows could possibly be a romantic stroll. It was a place of fear and oppression, not kissing for nonmagical upper class humans.

Shaking his head a bit, Fenris headed down to Darktown. 

He only realized how early it was when he found that the lantern was not lit yet. There were a few citizens milling around outside the doors, hoping to be first in line once Anders opened up, but Fenris did not want to wait. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, and he wanted to do it with as few people around as possible. Taking the parcel in one arm, he walked up to a door and banged on it for a few seconds. 

"What? Maker, we're not open yet? Is it an emergency?" A voice called from inside, sounding tired. Had Fenris woken the mage from his sleep? 

"Mage."

"I could use a bit more of an introduction than just 'mage', you know. I don't even know what you're saying anymore. What if I didn't recognize your voice? Would you have been declaring that you were a mage? Were you calling me a mage? Was a random man simply naming hated things in front of my door? The next one could be "elf", or "qunari"." Anders opened the door, still babbling on about Fenris' choice of words. 

Fenris had to stop himself from laughing, and he looked to the package in his hands as he cleared his throat, fidgeting around a bit. "Did you run out of paper last night?"

"What?" Anders looked confused.

"That seems to be the only suitable reason for why your face would be covered in ink."

Anders jumped back from the door, standing parallel to the wall as he ushered Fenris in. "Thank the maker you caught it. You know, last time this happened nobody told me until a small child came up to me and asked if this was what happened if you didn't learn your letters correctly in school." Anders closed the door, glancing at the box in Fenris' arm before shrugging and walking into his living quarters. "I guess I never made it back to the bed...look, a page completely ruined, although I suspect you'd be completely familiar with ruined pages of my manifesto, now wouldn't you, Fenris. I know it isn't Hawke that throws the sheets into the fireplace at his estate."

"You wrote until you fell asleep? This has happened before?" Fenris inquired, looking around the clinic. It was barely recognizable from the mess it had been before, although the elf thought he remembered one or two stains on the floor that had not been there previously. 

"Of course it has. Spirits don't understand sleep, despite the fact that it's really the only way most people communicate with them. Bodies are a foreign concept, I sometimes forget that I've still got to take care of this one."

"You have not been doing a very good job."

Anders winced a bit, looking up from the bowl where he had been scrubbing his face with a cloth. The words were gone, but there was blue ink all over half the mage's face. "I did just wake up, you know. I don't really need you telling me that I look awful." Anders appeared to sulk a bit, tying his hair tighter as he continued to scrub at his face. 

"That was... that was not what I meant." Fenris cursed himself, he had simply wished to remind the mage that he wanted him to be more mindful of himself. 

Sighing, Anders sat down in the chair that Fenris recognized from the night he had stayed over. "Did you come all this way to insult me?"

Fenris shook his head, holding out the box. "I...one of your bottles had an accident."

"What did it do, ride its horse off a cliff?"

"It broke."

"Oh, yes, I see, the bottle just spontaneously broke. Hold on, I have..." The apostate's voice trailed off, as he walked over to a shelf. The ink on his face was gone, but the skin was red and likely hurt. Rummaging around, he pulled out a small packet of herbs wrapped in cloth. "Soak it in hot water, drink it, it will help get rid of the headache."

"How did you know I had a headache?" Fenris asked, cautiously taking the herbs. 

"Do you normally smash bottles when you're sober, too?" Anders inquired, a little snarkily. "Just thank me and give me whatever it was that you bought me. I like presents."

"It is just a replacement. I must say I did not think they were so expensive." Fenris admitted, handing Anders the box.

"I don't remember giving you a bottle this big, are you sure this is the right kind?"

"It was the only kind they had that looked similar." 

Shrugging, Anders ripped off the parchment carefully. Fenris could tell that he was saving it - for writing most likely. Fenris found himself getting nervous - what if it was the wrong kind of bottle, what if it couldn't even hold potions? Were there bottles that couldn't hold potions? The face Anders was making was incredibly odd - he looked shocked and far happier than one ought to be upon receiving an empty bottle.

"Are you sure this is what you bought, Fenris?"

"Nobody else was there. I told her that I was getting the bottle, she said 'regular', I saw her put the bottle in the box. Is it not suitable?" The elf couldn't help it - he was a bit nervous. 

"Did I do something? I don't.." The other half of Anders face was slowly turning as red as the scrubbed part was.

"What? It is a bottle, I thought it was similar."

"Where did you get this again?" 

"There was a woman, the stall was decorative, she may have been Orlesian."

Anders nodded and then set the box back behind him. "It's very nice, Fenris. Now, I have to open the clinic. I'll see you when Hawke calls for us."

"Just a minute ago you looked as if I had given you a severed head. What, is there something displeasing about it? You do not have to hide it, I can handle selling it back if it is the wrong kind of bottle." Fenris could not believe he was being so conciliatory, he should leave - the mage was opening the clinic. 

"Nope, it's the right kind. Fenris, have a nice day."

"I would see what was in the box." 

Anders rushed to the box, holding it close to him, but Fenris was fast enough to catch the lid of the box and hold it open to see inside. The mage froze. "I just wanted to pretend like it was just a bottle, save you the embarrassment of..." He paused, looking nervously at Fenris' face. 

Flowers.

He had bought the mage flowers. 

Everything was clearer, in a sickening way. 

"I thought I was purchasing a bottle."

"It's in there, look." Anders pushed aside some of the flowers and assorted greens to show the bottle Fenris had picked out, being used as a vase.

"You are correct, it is in there." Fenris realized his hand was clenching so hard on the lid of the box that it had begun to fold. 

The mage sighed, tugging the box out of the elf's grasp and setting it down on the table behind him. "I won't tell anyone, it was an honest mistake. You don't mind if I keep them, do you?"

"Keep them?"

"I can put them back where nobody will see them, they're nice, they brighten the place up, it would be a pity to return them.." Anders was on the verge of pleading now, it seemed as if he did not want to let the plants go.

Fenris stepped back, his shoulders slumping a bit, although it was barely noticeable under his armour. "This is not how I pictured this going.." He muttered to himself, unaware it was being said aloud as well. 

"What going? Fenris, I know it was an accident. If you decide you want to buy someone flowers, I'm sure it'll go a lot better than this." Anders was confused, as to what Fenris was speaking about, and as to why exactly the elf was saying these things in his presence. 

"I do not buy things for people."

"It was an accident, you can return them if it means that much to you. Here." The mage held out the box to Fenris, who picked it up and put it back on the table. 

"They are yours."

Anders smiled a bit, nodding. "Thank you."

Pushing past the mage, Fenris walked into the makeshift bedroom, pulling back the curtain with a strange familiarity. "I am staying in here for a few moments." 

"What? Can I open the clinic?" Anders asked, curious, as he took the flowers out of the box.

"Must you?"

"Later, not this very moment. Need anything?" Anders was messing around in the clinic - Fenris could nearly picture the mage trying to figure out where to place the vase of flowers, moving bandages around until he found a proper place. 

"No."

"I can open the door and you can leave, you aren't trapped here. I can make them disperse, if everyone out there is making it worse." Anders sounded a little worried as he spoke through the curtain, not far from where Fenris was sitting on the bed. 

"No."

"May I come in?" Anders tapped the curtain with a finger, signaling to Fenris that he was out there. 

Fenris paused before letting out a sigh. "If you must."

The mage brushed aside the fabric to find the elf sitting on his bed, looking at the floor in a determined effort not to meet Anders' gaze. "I'm not laughing at you, it probably happens to everyone. Once in Herbalism I gave a boy I liked a rash because I tried to give him so flowers that, unbeknownst to me, caused a nasty allergic reaction." Despite the fact that Anders hated stories of the Circle, this one seemed to be acceptable. "See, everyone does flowers wrong, or in your case, bottles. Listen, you don't have to get worked up about it, I won't tell anyone. Now can I please open my clinic?"

Fenris looked up from the floor, pursing his lips before nodding slowly. "I feel unwell." He added, as if it wasn't obvious from his moping. 

Deciding to ignore the fact that he knew Fenris was physically in good condition, Anders nodded. "You can stay here for a little while, I might ask you to fetch some things for me." His eyes widened and he shook his head as in an objection to something he had thought of in his head. "And before you start calling me a magister, I get volunteers all the time. You don't have to help if you don't want to, but it could get your mind off whatever it's on."

"I am not the type for healing." 

"You know, there was once a time where I thought I wasn't good at setting people on fire, and then I did it, and I realized that actually, I'm very good at it. I avoid it when I can, of course, but I'm still quite good at it. Anyways, I haven't ever seen you help around the clinic, so you might be good at it, and you take care of yourself well enough." Anders argued, leaning against his desk. 

The elf permitted one of the corners of his mouth to turn up slightly. "I do not think I would be fit for setting people on fire, either. I prefer sticking my hand inside their bodies and wrenchi--"

"Okay, Fenris. I understand your sense of humour is odd, and I did set myself up for that one, but please, I don't need to know the details of where your hand has been. It's like...it's like when Isabela gives you a few coins. You really don't want to know where they've been. Your hand is like Isabela's money."

"Killjoy."

"That would require you to have some joy in the first place." Anders remarked, toying with his hair a bit. "And no, joy does not come in bottles aged and shipped from Tevinter."

"Joyful is not a word I would use to describe drinking. Not the sort that I do, at least." Fenris disagreed, standing up. "You may let your patients in now, I will stay."

"Stay and help?" Anders almost sounded hopeful as he looked over at Fenris. 

"Very well."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listen...today is sunday I'm cold and that's really my only excuse for all this damn angst

Anders did not sit down. Fenris wondered at first if it was simply due to the large number of patients that the mage had to deal with, but eventually he found that Anders simply did not rest. Even when they were alone together in the clinic (which was admittedly not often), Fenris would find Anders rolling bandages and siphoning potions off into organized groups that he would use for certain ailments. 

Fenris had expected Anders to be demanding of him, asking him to do demeaning tasks and deal with the worst patients. However, when a young man laden with three screaming children staggered into the clinic, Anders sighed, greeted the man, and proceeded to take the matter of the children's soiled smalls into his own hands. Fenris was instead tasked with retrieving replacement cloth, which was wrapped neatly and pinned in such a way that the elf was led to believe that this was not an uncommon occurrence. 

An old woman entered the clinic a while after Fenris had begun wondering when the mage was going to eat something, if ever. Smiling, she nodded knowingly at the elf before striding purposefully over to the healer. "Anders, dear, I brought some burned leftovers for everyone." She cooed, making her way familiarly into the curtained off area where Anders lived. The mage nodded, smiling a bit as she walked into the area, not noticing Fenris' tense posture. The elf, on the other hand, had a reason to be cautious. After all - the abomination had hidden the pot of flowers in that room, away from prying eyes. His fears were confirmed when the woman returned, less laden with food than she had been on her way in, and with a terrifyingly happy look on her face. 

"You got yourself a suitor, finally. Listen, I know you like to think you're too old for advice, but those flowers are very, very--"

Anders shook his head, reaching a hand out and shaking it as if to deny the woman's statement. "It's not...listen, I'll tell you the story if you promise not to tell a soul. Alright?" Fenris could hear the mage, despite how Anders was attempting to keep his voice down. Coughing, the warrior tried to make his presence known - Anders had promised him not to speak of this, and yet here he was, indulging in such a conversation to some busybody in exchange for a bit of food. 

Still, the woman nodded, urging the abomination to speak of Fenris' humiliation. 

"I bought them. For myself. Please don't tell anyone. I was feeling lonely and they looked so nice." 

_What?_

It took Fenris a few seconds to realize that the mage was covering for him. 

"You know, I honestly don't understand why a nice young man like you can't find someone to settle down with. You're so devoted to your work, sometimes I think it's going to kill you." The woman responded, shaking her head. "It's not too late to get yourself out there. Now, I'm off, there's a game of cards with my friends that I simply can't miss." With that, she walked off, waving goodbye to Anders as she left the clinic. The mage looked bad, he was propping himself up on a table, staring absentmindedly at a stain on its surface. His assistants had gone home to eat, and Fenris wondered if he ought to do the same. 

Steeling himself, the elf walked over to Anders, standing opposite him. "Now it is you who looks unwell."

"Don't I always look unwell? You're the one who says I haven't been doing a good job taking care of myself, whatever that's even meant to mean. And now I have people who mean well asking me if I've got someone, do I look like a man who has someone? Please, explain to me which part of 'living in Darktown, getting carted around as resident healer by the Champion of Kirkwall, and currently whining about my problems to an elf who is far better at keeping his emotions inside than I am' makes me look like I've got a blighted suitor?!" Anders finished his rant with a critical laugh, wincing a bit as he raised his hand to his head, preparing to cast a spell that Fenris had seen him cast at least five times that day.

Yet this time something was wrong. Anders raised his hand, a glow emanated from his hand, and then it halted, fizzling out. Frustrated, Anders focused harder, looking at his hand as if it did not belong to him as he tried again. This went on for a minute before Fenris could no longer watch.

"You are exhausted. When did you last eat?"

Anders frowned, shook his head, and tried the rejuvenation spell again. 

"Mage." Fenris stepped around the table, standing next to the healer as he watched the spell fizzle once again. "It is too much. You must stop this."

Slumping, Anders turned to the elf, shaking his head. "I have work."

Without a word, Fenris walked into the room where the old woman had deposited Anders' meal. Bringing it out, he held the cloth bag in front of the mage. "Eat."

"It isn't mine, a family comes by later and picks it up, it's all they have to eat."

"From what I see, it is all you have to eat as well. I will give them coin enough to feed themselves tonight, you will do no good if you are unable to stand." Fenris explained, letting Anders take the bag of food and rummage through it. 

Picking out a burnt roll of bread, Anders took a bite, watching Fenris curiously. "Why?" He asked after swallowing, putting the bag down. 

Fenris was not a fool, he knew that it was a broad question - something he'd been asking himself repeatedly over the past few hours. "I do not know." He offered, looking at his feet as he shuffled them around on the dirty floor, brushing one pile of dirt from one spot to another. "There was food, you were in need of it."

"You could have left."

Nodding, Fenris stopped his fidgeting. "I did not leave."

"You haven't answered my question." Anders reminded the elf, taking a final bite of the roll before stuffing it back into the bag. It was not enough to sustain him for long, but Fenris doubted that he would get the mage to eat any more.

"No, I have not." 

Walking over to a cot, Anders began folding some linens, refusing to look at Fenris. "You're not very good at talking about things, you know. Honestly, I'm pretty sure your skills at _not_ talking about things are worth some kind of award. Maybe you'll get a title for it eventually. Personally, I'd suggest: Serah-I-avoid-every-emotionally-charged-conversation-possible."

"Do not mock me, mage. Your willfulness to bear your soul to any who would speak with you longer than a moment is not something I would ever wish to possess. It is sickening." Fenris tried not to notice when Anders' hands clenched around the fabric he was folding. 

The tension in the healer's voice was audible - he was attempting to keep his tone calm, although his efforts were barely working. "Would you have me be like you? Never trust anyone, never let anyone in?"

"Perhaps if you trusted less, you would not have let yourself become an abomination."

Laying the fabrics back on the cot, Anders turned around to face Fenris. "If I trusted less, I would never have let you through those doors. Foolish, you know? To hope that you wouldn't resort to saying things like that." The hurt was audible in the mage's voice, and visible in his eyes.

Fenris had regretted saying it - they were past this. They had been past this for quite a while. The arguments still happened, but he did not insult the mage so readily. He knew that it was cruel to say something like that so quickly after he had been shown kindness. Still, he would not be intimidated by the apostate's words, nor would he let himself be ashamed of merely speaking the truth. The man was an abomination, there was no circumnavigating that fact, and there certainly was no ignoring it. 

Anders looked prepared to say something else, but he paused, seeing someone waiting at the entryway of the clinic. Putting on a smile, he made his way over to the patient, throwing himself yet again into his work while Fenris stood idly, unsure of how to continue. He wanted to leave, but after being accused of being someone who ran away from situations that were too emotionally charged for him to deal with, he did not want to seem a coward. He was surprised when the mage gestured for him to bring a healing poultice and a few bandages, but he did not receive an explanation from Anders until the clinic was preparing to close for the night. 

=====

The lantern was extinguished. Anders had finished the bread roll he had eaten from before, and the rest of the food had been distributed to various patients in need of food. When the family that the mage had mentioned before arrived, looking for their meal, Fenris had given them the coin he had promised, standing there awkwardly while they thanked him. Now, he was waiting, unsure of what to do. Their previous conversation had not ended in a way that made it seem as if it was entirely finished, and he was still wary of the mage's actions. 

"Everyone's left, Fenris. There's nothing keeping you here, you've been here the entire day." Anders said, walking around from station to station, organizing things and collecting what appeared to be a stack of papers covered in writing. Fenris could not tell what they said. 

"I am not running away."

"I'd hardly call going home running away."

Fenris sighed. "I am not running away from our discussion."

"Oh, the discussion where you called me an abomination? I didn't realize you weren't finished insulting me, was there anything else you'd like to call me before turning in for the night? I seem to recall 'weak' is one of your favorite adjectives, but I'm always open to new and exciting words." Anders was still not looking at Fenris. He had avoided eye contact ever since their conversation. 

This was not going to be easy. 

"My statement was unprecedented and at the moment, undeserved. _If_ what you said was true, and I fear trust, then it would only be because I fear having that trust broken. I should not work so hard to lose the trust that others have in me." Fenris hoped his speaking in hypotheticals would not be taken too badly. After all, he did not want to admit what his fears were. 

Nodding, Anders finally looked over at the elf, only to find that it was now Fenris who was avoiding his gaze. Sighing, he looked down again. "For things like this, for right now, you can trust me, if you'd like."

"I will..consider it." Fenris did not want to agree to such an interaction outright. It was too personal, too intimate to share with a mage. Speaking about his problems and his past was not something he would do with Anders. He had forbidden himself from such interactions when he had agreed to join Hawke's group.

"Okay." Anders said, walking across the clinic and opening a drawer to get Fenris a healing potion. "To replace the one that got broken." He explained, holding the bottle out to the elf. 

Reaching out, Fenris took it, tucking it away. "Will you manage?"

"Manage what? I've lived here for years, I'll _manage_ fine." The healer retorted, crossing his arms. "You know, your concern would be less confusing if you weren't so intent on loathing me."

"I do not want you dead, I have already explained this. If something were to happen to you, I would be...disappointed."

"Disappointed? Fenris, a person gets disappointed when they step in something nasty on the street, not when someone they know has something bad happen to them." Anders seemed insulted, Fenris cursed himself yet again for his choice of words. 

"It would be unsavory." The warrior attempted to clarify.

"Yes, you know, I think it would be. I wouldn't want to get hurt either, good to know we both agree. Are you done?"

"I..." Fenris was unsure of what to say. 

Looking at the wall for a moment, Anders decided to speak. "Remember what I said about you being able to trust me? I'm not awful at listening, you know."

In a sense, Fenris did not speak with many people. Hawke knew more about the elf than anyone else did, Donnic was a good drinking partner on occasion, there were many people he would miss if they were killed. In Kirkwall, that danger was all too present. However, he did not always feel that about the mage. Anders would have to die eventually, either due to his darkspawn taint or due to his demon, which would consume him and need to be put down like a dangerous animal. Of this, Fenris was sure. He did not even regret the fact most days, that he was walking around with a man who was in a way already dead. But there were other times when it pained him to think of the mage not being there, not only because the collective whining of his friends every time they had petty injuries would increase, but also because there was something about Anders' presence that seemed too kind to belong to the body and soul of an abomination. Despite how he hated the fact, Fenris knew that there was something about the healer that he would miss, although he was not sure what exactly that thing was. 

"Were something to happen to you, or any of our party, I would find myself mourning." He knew the statement was worded strangely, and he paused far too many times for it to sound fluid, but it was a thing he was not familiar with saying. 

The mage had the nerve to smile a bit - as if considering his own death and finding it endearing. "You should get going, Darktown isn't savory when it's light, it's even worse at night, I'm afraid." 

Fenris nodded. He wasn't exactly sure what he expected the mage to say, although it felt strange to be pushed out of the clinic after he had stayed the entire day. 

"Go on! Maker, stop looking at me like that. I'd miss you too if your ridiculous arse got killed. That enough for you?" Anders said, exasperated. 

It seemed that Fenris was not the only one who had a bit of trouble stating confessions such as that. 

"It is enough."

"Well then? I have a manifesto to write and you have dead bodies waiting at your house for their tea and crackers." 

A sudden thought struck Fenris, and the absurdity of it was not in the thought itself, but in the fact that he considered it without being repulsed or even shocked by it. He was even more surprised by his following actions. "There are quite a few bandits out there."

"Yes, that's why you should get going. You're a big strong elf with an even bigger sword, I think you can handle it."

"I feel rather ill."

"You know I'm a healer, and you're not sick or even injured. You've been helping me in the clinic all day, unless you strained your potion carrying muscles, you should be fine." Anders was getting more and more exhausted with this seemingly pointless conversation. 

"It may be too late for me to return to my mansion."

The mage stopped in his tracks, turning to Fenris. "You can't be serious."

Fenris shrugged, toying with the potion he'd just recently been given. 

"I don't understand why. I don't understand why at _all_ , but fine. Fine, pick a cot, don't break anything."

The astonishment Fenris was feeling was only partly because Anders had agreed. Somewhere in his logic, he had forgotten that the only reason they had shared a bed earlier was due to the mess the clinic had been. Of course, there would be no sharing now. 

"Don't tear the linens up with your poky armour, alright?" The mage called from his desk. Somehow, he had already retreated to it, and Fenris could hear the frantic scribbling coming from behind the curtain. 

=====

"The injustices that mages...that mages...that..."

It was agony. Fenris had been listening to the mage repeat his pointless drabble to himself for what seemed like an eternity. The ferocity with which Anders had been writing had been winding down, and the elf had needed to cover his ears once the repetition of words in a sentence had begun. It seemed to be what Varric described as 'writer's block', although Anders would likely have never admitted it. 

"that mages face in...mages face in Thedas...mages face in Thedas aside from the mages in Tevinter, ugh. Mages in Ferelden, Orlais, the Anderfels, anywhere that's got the Chant of Light stuck up their asses along with the entire templar order. Ow." Fenris rolled over in his cot as some words were scribbled out. "That mages face are un..needed? No, undesirable? Maker, no. Un...un...un..." 

The "un"ning went on for a minute or so, until it turned into a quiet snore. The mage, it seemed, had fallen asleep at his desk. 

Fenris stood up, getting out of the uncomfortable cot and walking into Anders' living quarters, where he shook the healer's shoulders until he woke up, looking up at the elf groggily as he shook his head. "What?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. Thankfully, he had not fallen asleep on the page of the manifesto, and his face this time was ink free. 

"You are asleep at your desk. Go to bed."

Anders shook his head, turning back to the papers in front of him. "I've got... a little more to do. Where was I? Right, un. Unprecedented! That's it!" He scribbled something down. 

"Bed, mage."

"Well, if I'd known you were so eager, I would have agreed years ago." Anders muttered, trying to make a joke that was more fitting for Isabela than him at the moment. 

Grabbing the mage by his feather pauldrons, Fenris dragged him to the bed. "You have been rambling for a while, I know you have only written a few sentences since it began. You must sleep." 

Anders looked dejected as he sat on the bed, not bothering to take his coat off as he lay down. "It's my clinic, you didn't have to stay, you know." 

Grumbling, Fenris returned to his cot. It had not been a minute before the scratching of pen on parchment began anew. 

" _Mage_ " He called, standing up again and walking over to the desk. "This does not seem to be what most would define sleeping as."

"Yes, well, you see, I was thinking and I am really feeling much better now, see, I just wrote two whole new sentences."

Fenris rolled his eyes, leaned down, and then leaned back up. He was unsure what exactly he was seeing. Even if he could read, the mage's script made it nearly impossible to distinguish one letter from the next. He scoffed, hoping that was a vague enough gesture, and then pointed to the bed. 

Pouting, Anders wrote down what looked like a few more words before nodding and taking his coat and boots off. Fenris, instead of returning to the main room in the clinic, sat down on the chair in front of the desk. 

"You're not serious." Anders said, looking up from his spot in the bed. "You're not my mother, Fenris. Go to sleep."

"You will just get back up again."

"So your solution is just to not get any sleep yourself? If you've got to watch over me like an overprotective... _something_ , at least lay down." Moving over, Anders lifted the blankets a bit.

Cautiously, Fenris walked over to the bed, making sure he was devoid of his sharp armour before nodding and stepping into the spot the mage had made for him. This, at least, seemed a somewhat good excuse. 

Minutes later, Anders jumped up, reaching over the elf in an attempt to get at his desk. "Under Andrastrian Chantry rule, there, that makes sense. Not anything to..." He paused, stopping his babbling as he realized that he was currently hovering halfway over a very disturbed Fenris. The elf held his arm in a tight grip, ensuring that Anders did not fall on top of him. 

Sliding his arm out of Fenris' hand, Anders stopped as their hands met, and he hesitated for an instant before taking the elf's hand in his own. "Is this okay?" He asked, unsure.

Fenris nodded, watching Anders sink back to his side of the bed, their hands still entwined. 

"I'll go to sleep now." The healer said, apologizing for the outburst he'd had when he realized the few words that he had been missing. 

"Wait." 

Anders' looked at Fenris cautiously as the elf's other hand reached behind his head, undoing the tie that kept the mage's hair in place. Dropping the small piece of leather on the floor, Fenris nodded, laying back down. 

"Thanks. I always forget about that...listen, if I have nightmares and wake you, wake me up. Okay?" Anders murmured, once again half-asleep. 

Nodding his consent, Fenris closed his eyes. "Good night, mage."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of negotiation. a lot of comma overuse as per usual
> 
> TW for implied past sexual abuse. also mentions of sex work

Watching Anders wake up was like watching something beautiful die. Fenris had never been one for particularly flowery metaphors, but he was not a flowery person, and the macabre thought was what he had in mind as Anders groaned and shifted slightly. The mage had moved during the night, and in a way Fenris would have never suspected that Anders was the same man when they had last slept beside each other. Not only was he less exhausted, but he moved as if he could not stand still lest something reach down from the ceiling and devour him. Currently, Anders was laying atop Fenris' chest, his head resting where he could hear the elf's heartbeat and his hands clinging to Fenris' shoulders as if he were almost about to fall off. He was laying diagonally on the bed, his hips just next to Fenris where they would not cause any trouble. 

Fenris had considered telling the mage to wake up and get someone else to use as a pillow, but he did not truly want to. After all, this was what he had made up that story for. The story of him being unable to make the walk back to his mansion. This contact was surprisingly fine. Perhaps it was because the mage was not conscious yet, or maybe it was simply that Anders was comfortable. The healer was warm and soft despite how he did not eat much. It seemed that he had no sharp edges on him at all. His clothes were worn down to a gentle texture that could only be achieved by years of wear and use, and the satisfied noises he would make when he found a place he deemed suitably comfortable were fascinating in a terrifying sort of way. It _was_ terrifying, that Anders would trust Fenris in this manner despite his previous actions. Fenris could not know that Anders had thought the same thing as he fell asleep - how wondrous it was that the elf, abused and mistreated by mages, would sleep with one at his side. 

The golden head of hair shifted once again and Anders was awake. 

"Who..." He murmured, his hands tugging a bit at Fenris' shirt before they unstuck themselves and started to move upwards towards his face. 

Grumbling, Fenris tilted his head so that the mage's wandering hands would not chance upon his ears. "Anders."

Anders' messy head of hair stilled and he pulled away, not in a shocked fashion as Fenris had expected, but in a retreat that he had seen Hawke's mabari do after it was denied food or a spot at the table. "Maker, sorry. You should have woken me."

"It was not unpleasant." Fenris felt cold without the heat of the mage on top of him and he pulled up a blanket to replace the warmth. 

"First you call me Anders, now you say that cuddling with me wasn't unpleasant? What next, are you going to reveal that the color of your hair is naturally a shocking shade of magenta?" Anders remarked, his voice still a little slow and lazy. 

It took Fenris a moment to realize that the mage was surprised at the use of his name. The substitution of 'mage', 'abomination', or 'healer' had come so naturally to him that frequently, he did not realize that he hadn't been saying Anders' name until afterwards. "I will remind myself not to treat you as nicely in the future, if you find yourself so taken aback and disturbed by it."

"No...no, no, Fenris." Anders rolled over so he could look at the elf, his eyes full of regret. "I'm happy you used my name."

"Hmph." Fenris turned away from the pair of honey brown eyes currently attempting to stare into his soul.

"By the way, about last night. If you wanted to stay, you didn't have to pretend you were scared of a few bandits."

"My honor as a fighter is more easily returned than my pride."

"What, you're embarrassed? Fenris, I just spent the last night curled up against you like I was starved for it. Let me emphasize that - I was curled up against _you_ , and you're the humiliated one!?"

The recoil Fenris felt made him glad that he was not facing the mage. "I was not aware you were so put off by the concept of being near me."

Anders stopped. He wanted to shake his head and reach a hand out to turn the elf around, but he knew that contact would be unwelcome. "That isn't what I meant. I just...I'm embarrassed that I'd do this with a man who would never have me or want me like this. I know I used to be a bit of a whore, back in Denerim, but it wasn't..I didn't think it was something I was still willing to subject myself to."

"You are wrong." Fenris replied, still turned so that he faced away from the mage.

"Care to clarify?"

"Must I?"

"No...no you don't have to do anything. That's sort of the deal with things like this, you know? Like when you go to the rose and lay with someone. They can't really ask anything from you, you can just take. It's like that, with less sex I guess."

"I am not inclined to simply take." This conversation was getting out of hand. Fenris did not like it. 

"Come on Fenris, be honest to yourself. You would not give to someone like me." Anders sounded sad as he spoke. It was a cruel difference between the man the mage had been just moments ago. 

Pausing, Fenris turned to face Anders. "You are wrong again, mage." Shifting, he reached his hand up, trying to brush away some of the hair that had fallen in front of Anders' face. His hand stilled in front of the mage's lips, where he could feel breath ghosting through his fingers. "I am unsure."

Anders nodded, glancing at Fenris' hand before tilting his head forward and kissing the elf's fingers lightly. His eyes fluttered open once he pulled away, looking at Fenris with a hesitant sort of eagerness. "You're welcome to experiment. Figure out what it is you're looking for. I...there would need to be some ground rules." 

"This is not about sex." Fenris clarified, pulling his hand away.

"No, no it doesn't have to be. It's about not sleeping alone every night." The mage offered nervously. He did not know whether or not to look Fenris in the eye.

Fenris could see the hesitation in the way Anders held himself. Neither of them had woken up expecting something like this, but with them it seemed that things got out of hand quickly. They were both far too fractured to deal with the pretense that most people would normally have put up, he supposed. The lowering of both of their metaphorical walls had ensured that there would be no small talk on this morning. "Why?"

The mage finally turned to look at Fenris. He had assumed that this was obvious. "You stayed here last night, I don't think it was because the bed was exceptionally comfortable." He paused, sighing in defeat before continuing. "We've survived this long, and we've been fortunate to do so. Kirkwall isn't a kind place, it's certainly not one that promotes longevity or devotion to anything aside from self-interest. I wish I could say I shared that sentiment. Unfortunately, there's something left in me from when I was hopeful and young that makes me actually _want_ this bastardized version of closeness."

"I am not familiar with it." Fenris admitted hesitantly, still not looking away from the mage. 

Anders nodded, biting his lower lip. "It's something that's learned, I think. It took me a while to be able to trust enough for intimacy that was more than hiked up robes and secret touches in the circle. Still working on it, obviously." He knew that he was not good at knowing his own limits. There were times when he found himself giving away more of himself than he truly had to give - in work and in other situations. 

Something in him told Fenris that he should let this happen. It would be nice to know the true lack of hesitation that came with openness, to know that there would be someone who accepted him for acceptance in return. Another part of him spoke up against it. This was a mage, he did not want to accept a mage. He did not want to accept someone who could so easily become what he had left behind. The latter part of him silenced as he continued to look into Anders' eyes. This was what he wanted right now. He did not know how long he had to live, he did not know if a well aimed arrow would end his life in a day or ten. What he did know was that he had the possibility to do something he never had the chance to do before, and he wanted to do it. Unsure of how to say it, he nodded, moving a minuscule amount closer to the mage, whose eyes were currently wide as an elf's. "What are your terms?" He asked, trying unsuccessfully to make this exchange seem businesslike.

At first, Anders could not believe it. That Fenris moved closer to him was a surprise in itself, but that he nodded was a small miracle. The elf had agreed to this, whatever _this_ was. "Right, rules. First rule.." He trailed off as he got lost in the muted light reflecting off Fenris' hair, but caught himself quickly and continued. "Either of us want to stop doing something, or stop altogether, we stop. No questions need be asked."

Fenris was not surprised. Both of them were far too damaged to have things any other way. Even though this was not about sex, it would still have to have limits, and those limits were vital. "Agreed." He murmured, wondering briefly if there were people waiting outside the door of the clinic already. 

"Second one is that we don't call each other names when it's like this. We can do it on the streets, with Hawke or in the Hanged Man--"

"No." Fenris' voice was stern as he objected. "More. You have called me things previously that I object to. Do not liken me to a dog or an animal as you have done before. Never."

Anders was guilty beyond measure when he realized what Fenris was saying. Nodding, he agreed. "Of course." Pausing, he looked down at Fenris, hoping to meet the elf's eyes in order to say sorry, but he found that Fenris was once again looking away. "I don't have any that you have to stop using, really. They're all...somewhat based in fact." He did not want to outright say that there were some times that he feared Fenris was speaking the truth when he said things like 'abomination', but he left the assumption ready to be made, hanging in the air like a spell gone wrong. "Just not when it's like this, you know?

"You are not the same when it is like this." Fenris agreed. "I would not say them to you as you are now." The words _vulnerable, pitiful, gentle_ echoed in Fenris' mind as he thought the unspeakable. 

"Neither are you. I've never seen you like this before, you know. You're always all tense. Even when you're passed out." Anders tried to pick up the conversation, staring at his desk across the small room. 

"I have never been like this before." The words were out of Fenris' mouth before he could stop them. It was too late by now, of course. The truth was present, and it had likely already been obvious to Anders. Still, Fenris felt himself losing some of the relaxation he had gained since waking.

The mage did not seem surprised, although from where Fenris was laying he could hear the heartbeat in front of him speed up momentarily before slowing back down to its regular pace. "I'll try my best to make it memorable, then. Memorable in a good way, of course. The kind of memorable you don't want to forget, and that you think of on cold nights when everything good and warm seems like a dream long forgotten."

"You are far too verbose to be living in Darktown."

Anders' laughed at that, and the bed shook on its rickety legs as the shaking of the mage's chest died down. "You should read my Manifesto. I have to say, if it really were me writing most of it, there'd be a lot more swearing and references to obscene body parts of popular religious figures than there is now."

Fenris grumbled - it was back to reading, again. "By then, it would be halfway up to the standards of one of Varric's writings."

"Have you read them?" The mage asked, suddenly curious. He also wanted to drive the conversation away from the Manifesto. Politics could turn the discussion sour incredibly quickly. 

This was growing more and more uncomfortable for Fenris, who shook his head. "Merely heard of them. You should open the clinic."

The mage whined a bit as he shifted around in the bed, careful to not bump into Fenris as he did so. "Stay and help?"

"I am not much help in a place such as this. Besides, I have things to do." Fenris hoped that was vague enough that he would not be pressed for more information. 

"Fine, fine." The whining in Anders' tone was audible and somewhat endearing. As he sat up, he looked around the room once more before cautiously reaching down and brushing a strand of white hair behind Fenris' ear. "Want to try a kiss?"

A kiss?

The mage truly was ridiculous. 

Fenris sat up to face Anders before getting out of bed wordlessly. It was colder than he had thought it would be, and he found himself wanting to slip back beneath the covers like some lavish Orlesian with silk sheets and nothing but time. 

"Bad idea?" Anders asked, still sitting in bed with the disturbed sheets around him like a nest. 

Of course it was a bad idea. What had the apostate been thinking, suggesting a kiss so quickly. "Yes."

"Is the deal off?" The mage sounded worried, and if Fenris were to look over again he would find Anders' hands balled up in the sheets as he awaited a response.

"No."

Anders' hands let go their captive fabrics as he finally got out of the bed. "Okay."

The realization that he was free to go and to stay dawned upon Fenris as he looked at the door. "Farewell, Anders."

"You'll be back?"

"Your bed is uncomfortable."

"I like to think it's a little better with me in it." Anders offered, worrying yet again. 

Sighing, Fenris grabbed the mage's coat and tossed it to him. "Mine is more pleasant."

"I hardly think so, what with all the corpses and..wait, really? You're inviting me over." Anders' tone was full of surprise as he slipped on his coat and began with the multitude of buckles and straps it possessed. 

"I just did."

"Okay."

"Tonight. I will see you there." Fenris hoped he did not sound too demanding, but he wished to see if things did truly feel better if there was someone else present in the mansion with him, and Anders was offering, after all. 

Anders nodded as he watched Fenris leave, his eyes running over the half finished pages of his Manifesto before they drifted over to the vase of flowers and finally back to the open door, where people were awaiting his attentions.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes on this chapter:  
> -one hell of a timeskip, at least a few months. I figured that no matter how awfully and beautifully self-indulgent it woudl be, I could not write a few months worth of cuddling.  
> -this chapter is short but I tried to fit a bit into it to make up for that.  
> -thank you all for reading!

The mage entered Fenris' life with an unexpected amount of ease. He did not make messes and he did not speak of their agreement when in the company of others. There hadn't been any modifications made to the mansion at all despite Anders' repeated whining about its state of disrepair. Fenris had wondered briefly why the mage was not leaving anything there, given the amount of time he spent there, and only after looking around the clinic carefully did he realize that there were very few things that the apostate seemed to call his own. His writing pen was one, another was his coat and boots. Only after a few weeks did the elf find any changes to his home at all. He had seen the pillow laying around the clinic, of course. It was sometimes stuffed into chests and sometimes was hastily pulled off the bed by Anders to make room for Fenris instead. Now it lay on Fenris' bed, a nondescript and yet meaningful token that neither of them wanted to address. Fenris knew it belonged to Anders - it smelled like him, after all (the warrior had taken a few moments alone, frustrated that he even knew or cared what the mage smelled like).

He knew other things about Anders that he had never planned on knowing. For instance, the mage would take his hair out of its tie and use the leather band as a worry toy when he got particularly nervous about something. He also frequently lost ties, only to find them weeks later, and kept a supply of them wrapped around his staff. A useful and yet completely Anders-esque adornment. The mage also liked being touched on the small of his back and on the back of his neck. It was not an inherently sexual motion - the touching that Fenris and Anders sometimes partook in. It was comfortable, and it said _I am comfortable with you_ without having to say the words aloud. 

=====

Anders' hands were gentle and sure of themselves as they slowly pressed out the knots in the elf's shoulder. Fenris could hear the mage let out an exasperated sigh a few times when he reached a particularly tense knot. Turning around, he shrugged Anders' hands off his shoulders, reaching up to take one of them in his own. "If it frustrates you so, there is no need for you to continue."

The mage wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he simply squeezed Fenris' hand gently. "Yes, exactly. If only you took as much effort as everyone else to maintain. Instead, here I am, giving you massages despite the fact that you're just going to go out and stress yourself again. Foolish, reckless elf. Turn around so I can finish."

Fenris made a discontented sound deep in his throat, looking up from where he was sitting at the standing mage. "You needn't worry. I've been told my healer is one of the best in Kirkwall."

"I'm not worrying." Anders smiled nonetheless. "And you're a flatterer."

"You are worrying. You constantly worry."

"Well, I wouldn't have to worry if you weren't always getting in trouble with Hawke." Anders retorted, crossing his arms. 

"You get in trouble with Hawke just as much as I do." Fenris looked up at Anders for a moment before recognizing the look on the healer's face. Another thing he had learned about Anders was that the mage did fear losing the ones he was close to. And they were close - close enough that if a stranger were to happen across them, they might be mistaken for lovers. The elf understood Anders' fear. Perhaps he understood it too much (he understood that when the mage was injured in battle, the sounds of pain in Anders' voice made Fenris fight with previously untapped ferocity). "Come here, mage."

For all his eagerness, Anders moved to the chair relatively slowly. He let go of Fenris' hand, sitting in the elf's lap so that their knees were perpendicular to each other. Wrapping an arm around the warrior's shoulder for support, he slowly began to relax. "We both get in far too much trouble." He finally said, his other hand reaching up to rest on the side of Fenris' face. 

Fenris reached an arm around to Anders' back to steady him, only to find that the mage closed his eyes and let out a satisfied sound at the contact. "We always make it back here, don't we?" 

"What? Back on your lap? I can count the times you've let me sit like this on one hand."

 _Back together_ , Fenris wanted to say. _Back like this in each other's arms, curled up in bed next to each other with your head resting against mine as if we are sharing more than just space. No matter how many arguments or conflicts, we always seem to end up together._ Instead he sighed, closing his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Despite how he had joked just moments before, Anders nodded. Neither of them were looking at each other now, a sign of trust, he supposed. "I do know what you mean." He murmured, slowly opening his eyes to see green ones across from him doing the same thing. "I know." 

Fenris kissed Anders in the way he knew they both wanted it. They both had seen each other at their worst and at their most vulnerable. Fenris had seen Anders curled up in the corner of his living quarters, reeking ingredients of some unknown mixture sitting across the room as far away as they could possibly be - almost as if the mere existence of the chemicals was somehow painful to the mage. (He had never asked what they were for). Anders had seen Fenris staggering drunkenly around the mansion, shouting at ghosts that were long gone and cursing the ones that had made him one of them. And so the kiss was not one that said _you are perfect_ , like so many of them were expected to be. Instead, it was one that said _"we are flawed, but we are good for each other, and I will always come back to you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end. Thank you for all the support.


End file.
